The Barstool Saga
by Venath
Summary: Series of one-shots with various pairings, themes, and maybe the occasional crossover. First chapter: Generations - Sometimes, one can't help but wonder if turning his sword into an interdimensional key wasn't Sparda's brightest idea.


Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. I also most likely don't own any of the materials that will appear in crossover chapters.

AN: This is the first in what'll probably be a series of loosely connected one-shots. Some will be pure DMC, some will be crossovers, some might tie into other stories I have out or planned. There'll be various pairings and characters at the center of the story, and they don't take place in any particular order. Anyway, with that said, I hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

"You're the unstoppable Dark Knight. You're the one who defeated countless lords of the demon world in single combat. You're the one who has slaughtered thousands, even millions of their minions. You're the demon who personally sealed Mundus and his forces away and prevented a worldwide apocalypse." Thousands of others had said these very same things. He'd enjoyed it once, the way that they revered him, treated him as though he were a living god. Perhaps that was why Mundus was so attracted to power. There was just something pleasant about being so adored. Yet it had worn thin after a certain length of time, so perhaps Mundus had simply been driven mad with constant reminders of his own supposed glory.

But in this case, he once again felt pleasure in the words. Not because this one was worshipping him. Oh no, it was for an entirely different reason.

"What the hell were you thinking!" She was among the few who actually spoke to him with such little restraint. She was never afraid, or awed, or so intent on praising him as a god that she couldn't speak her mind. His love, his goddess. "Really Sparda, how in the world did someone actually manage to _steal_ the Yamato from you?"

"In my defense, Eva, the blade wasn't technically in my possession at the time. Defending the village seemed a higher priority."

"And you couldn't do anything to secure the sword in the process?"

"There were children."

"You're capable of outrunning a bullet hundreds of times over before it's even halfway to the target, and you don't think you could've spared a tiny fraction of a split second to get your hands on the one thing that can hold the portal between worlds open?"

"They're a powerful clan of shinobi. I trusted that they could keep Yamato safe while I dealt with the threat."

"You don't trust anyone to keep Yamato safe while you deal with the threat. You _use_ Yamato to deal with the threat."

"…"

"…You just got bored, didn't you?"

"Perhaps a little."

"One day, when we have children and they make excuses for why they summoned the ancient apocalypse demon because they were bored, I'm blaming you."

"Of course, Love."

"Now go do your saving the world thing." It was a simple thing to retrieve his oldest and most trusted weapon. He would never understand how it was that demons came under the impression that the sword was what made him so powerful when he had repeatedly defeated even some of Mundus' greatest warriors with nothing but tooth and claw.

But hey, he got a kiss out of it and the world didn't end, so all's well that ends well.

* * *

The thirteen year old boy rubbed at the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh at the mirror image staring back at him like some kind of kicked puppy. Oh, he knew that he was in trouble, that much was obvious.

"How in the world did a demon actually manage to _steal_ Yamato from you?" The red-clad child huffed at the question. It wasn't really _his_ fault that someone had taken it while he was distracted by the cutie who worked the register on Tuesdays.

"He didn't steal it from me, you prick. He stole it from those idiots working for the museum." Though admittedly, said girl seemed a bit more worried than interested in flirting with someone half a decade younger than her. She kept looking back and forth between the two as they went on, puzzling at why they were still doing this half an hour after the brawl that had turned the small gas station into a tornado of glass, ruined snacks, and smokes.

"Yes, and they stole it from you. Ergo, he stole it from you."

"Dammit Vergil, that's not the point." Though at least they hadn't been anywhere near the pumps. Heaven only knew what damage they'd have caused if gasoline entered the equation. Vergil wouldn't have been a problem, but Dante leaned a tad towards the pyromaniac end of the spectrum.

"I beg to differ. You are the one at fault here."

"No, I'm not."

"Um…" The girl's attempt to interject had little effect.

"Yes, you are."

"Am not."

"Um, boys?"

"You are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Don't you think you should—"

"Not."

"So."

"Not times inf—"

"Oh, would you two just quit! I don't know what's going on here, but it sounds like there are more important things you need to take care of." She shrank back as the two paused, stiffened, and slowly twisted to look at her.

"…The girl has a point."

"Course she does. Smart girl like her…" He threw a grin her way, and her heart gave a flutter at the compliment, even if he was obviously just trying to get on her good side. The almost constant stream of flirtatious remarks that came from Dante whenever he popped in was fun, and that smile of his was just adorable. With a few more years to his name, she had no doubt he'd be downright gorgeous.

"I give up. _I'll_ be the responsible one, as usual, and retrieve the ancient artifact that could end the world in the wrong hands. You just keep doing whatever it is that oafs do in their spare time."

They eventually teamed up to retrieve the blade. Honestly, it always baffled the sons of Sparda why demons kept attempting to steal things from two boys who had repeatedly beaten them into submission with nothing more than their bare hands, never mind their ever-growing array of weapons and magical abilities.

But hey, they saved the world, got the sword, and the next time they saw here the cutie behind the counter gave them both a kiss on the cheek for the save last time, so all's well that ends well.

* * *

He'd reached the breaking point. There was no choice left. All other possible options had been ruled out. He was really, genuinely, honestly about to call Lady to ask if there was something, _anything_, she could give him to work on that could take care of this mind-numbing boredom. Hell, he'd even pay to do the work at this point.

But it seemed fate was on his side, because it began to ring right before he touched it. Leaning back, he lifted his leg and dropped a boot to the table, sending the receiver spinning through the air to his waiting hand.

"Devil May Cry."

"Hey Dante," He smiled at the light, cheerful voice that he'd gotten to know much better since the whole Fortuna incident. "It's Kyrie. We kind of have a bit of a problem here."

"Eh?" This sounded promising. "Haven't heard from Nero."

She let out a playful huff at the remark. Of course he hadn't heard from Nero. Nero would sooner let the end of times fly by than actually ask Dante for backup. Plus, these days he didn't normally need it anyway.

"Oh, you know how he is. Stubborn as you."

"Hey, I'm way more stubborn than the little punk."

"Of course you are." He could practically see her eyes rolling.

"So what are we looking at this time? Another crazy dictator who thinks he's a god?"

"Nope." Not too surprising. It wasn't likely that someone would be able to set up an operation like that in a place where the people had already seen it happen.

"Demon invasion?" Those were a bit more likely, but she definitely would've sounded more concerned if it was something so massive.

"Not since Christmas." Now _that_ had been one wild holiday party.

"Thanks again for the replacement, by the way. I seem to run through these jackets about as fast as I do bullets."

"Glad to hear you like it."

"So, guess that means there's a Sorcerer who wants to use demons as a weapon, right?" That was the one he'd always put his money on. It was too hard for most people to set up the image of being a fake god in modern days, and the numbers and resources for even a high end Devil to pull off full scale invasions made them rare. On the other hand, there would always be a steady supply of the crazies who thought they could control something far beyond their ability.

"None of those lately either." _Huh?_ Well that was unusual. No invasions, no deluded dictators who believed they were gods, and no psychotic sorcerers hoping to summon demons to serve them? What else could it—_Oh hell._ Finally he realized what the problem was. Bringing his fingers up to rub at the bridge of his nose, he asked the question:

"…Yamato?"

"Yamato." Her tone was entirely too cheerful in that confirmation.

"Damn," He let out a knowing sigh. "Must be Tuesday. Why couldn't _my_ sword be the interdimensional key that can unite the human and demon realms? At least I'd already be there when these things go down instead of running all over the damn place. Gas prices the way they are, sometimes I think these lunatics are more interested in bankrupting me than destroying the world."

"You know we can pay you." And she knew very well that he wouldn't _let_ either of them pay for his services.

"Nah." Perhaps more importantly, she also knew that he'd never outright admit that fact. "Who needs gas when you've got Geryon? Just hook him up to the bike; nobody'll notice a thing and he loves to give rides. Kind of his thing."

"So will you come?"

"I dunno. Schedule's pretty tight, but I guess I _might_ be able to fit you guys in somewhere."

"I'm making pizza." He paused. And then...

"No olives?"

"No olives, promise. And we just stocked up on tomato juice." If the giggling was any indication, she definitely heard his stomach growl at the promise.

"Little temptress."

"And you never know, there might be strawberry sundaes for dessert."

"…I'm in, cute stuff." Besides, Nero needed his help, and the kid was the last person left in the world who shared his blood. Oh well. At the end of the day they would prevent the apocalypse, he'd have a big homemade strawberry sundae, and Nero would get a kiss from the girl, so all's well that ends well.

But really, how in the world did someone actually manage to _steal_ the Yamato?

* * *

AN: Well, that's it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, and since my Sparda-based story is one that I intend to put focus on in the next month or two (I'm trying out a new system of focusing on two or three stories at once instead of _all_ of them at once), you might be able to look forward to a few new chapters there if you were enjoying it. Also, there are a few other DMC story plot bunnies that I've got going on in my head, most of them crossovers, so if you like my others you might want to look out for that.


End file.
